


Once upon a ...December

by BlueRam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9171715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRam/pseuds/BlueRam
Summary: Once upon a december; a distant land and desolate winter's, a story is told...one you will always remember.  No one really understands what happened...that one december.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of the gift bundle collection called (The Gift Bundle) that I had compiled as a gift for my readers.

Winter…such a desolate and cold time, where men shivered in the streets, bereft of a home. Along cobbled streets and dark alleys, you would see them. Such a sad and lonely existence, with no one to truly care for their wellbeing. Chimneys smoked, rising tendrils of white that would so easily blend with gently falling snow. Carts were pulled by horses, a steady echoing trot and the baker down the street would smile ever so kindly at the young woman who passed by every night, a bottle of warm milk in hand. She had given birth to twins the townsfolk would whisper, eyes following her form with excitement. Special note taken of her expensive diamond ring that glittered like the stars that hardly shun at the rise of winter.

Marceil was a small little town, the land of which belonged to the famed Vongola, naught but the young heir left surviving after the terrible plague that had cursed their lands for years. Many pitted the young man, Giotto was his name…he seemed forever sad, angry… golden eyes forever staring into that old antique music box many claimed to hear play in the dead of night. It was impossible of course, where he lived…far upon the hills overlooking the town, no one could possibly hear from so far. They had not seen much of the young man since his parent's death, forever held hostage by his grief in a lonely mansion with naught but a single butler for true company.

"Giotto, it is time for bed young master." Butler Francis frowned, expression sad as he watched the forlorn visage of his young master. The child was thirteen years old, with thick blonde hair and rich orange-gold eyes, like the embers of a lit fire...skin tanned and smooth. He, even at such a young age already bore the markings of the handsome man he would grow to be. Giotto didn't say a word, closed music box held in his lap as he stared listlessly out at the moon. It painted an eerie picture, so full and silver, its light cast upon their town, even as snowflakes seemingly fell one at a time. An old dance that not many would understand.

"Giotto." Francis sighed, placing a firm hand on the boy's shoulder, a grip that tightened when he felt the obvious tremors. The boy was holding back tears, hand clasped desperately around the old music box that forever sang out of tune.

"Francis, Christmas as a time of happiness isn't? A time where wishes are granted and magic runs wild across our lands…when the spirits frolic with children and save those who are ill…then why—" Giotto's voice cracked before he could even voice his question. Flashes of his smiling mother and proud father vivid in his mind. How they would make the trip to town to give food and donate blankets. How they would frequent orphanages and give the children toys, abandoning their own child to his solitude. A duty they took upon themselves without payment, only to be repaid with plague and a horrible death.

It wasn't fair! They shouldn't have left him, it was because of the town's people that his parents lay six feet under! They should have stayed with him in their manor, isolated from the town like their ancestors before him. Magic, ha! It didn't exist, if it did… he would have his parents, he would never have lost one thing.

"Giotto, your parents would never have—they loved you very much. They would have wanted you to—Giotto—I—" Francis didn't know what to say, not when large eyes stared up at him with so much hurt. This was a boy who had lost his parents on Christmas day…a boy who no longer believed in the magic of the holiday upon his loss. Hated magic, despite her wonder.

"It's alright, Francis. You don't have to—I—I'll go to bed now." Giotto sighed, placing the music box on his nightstand before shuffling under the sheets. Francis smiled sadly, carefully tucking the boy in, before gently removing a stray lock of hair from his face.

"Let your dreams be at peace, Giotto, and the magic of our land sing true." With that the man left quietly, but not before hearing Giotto's sad whisper of—

"What if I don't believe in magic anymore?" Magic was for fools, and it deserved to die…just like this cursed winter, just like his parents that were so cruelly taken away from him.

* * *

A song… a familiar song was playing, the chords of a piano strumming perfectly along with the out of tune music box that belonged to his mother. Giotto's eyebrows creased in confusion, more so when a frigid cold breeze fluttered through the window of his bedroom that should have been shut. The young boy woke with a frightened start, looking around wildly before he none too gently slammed shut the music box. He could still hear the piano, a muffled sound that came from the music room parallel to his bedroom. Cautiously, the boy left his bed, heart thumping furiously in his chest as he made his way to a room that should have forever remained closed. After all, his mother was no longer there to play the instruments she loved so dearly.

Giotto's eyes widened as he opened the doors, almost blinded for a moment by the bright light of the moon that shone fiercely through the glass. A sweet song with an eerie tune echoed through the room, chords of the piano strummed so quickly that that Giotto's heart raced with fright-anxiety—wonder?

 _"_ _Someone holds me safe and warm_

_Horses prance through a silver storm"_

The song of the music box…the one thing that had given him comfort, sang from the lips of some strange being who played so beautiful upon a black painted piano. And being it was…for this person couldn't possibly be human! Skin pale as snow, lips red as roses and eyes so piercingly green…a colour sharper than any pure emerald he had ever seen! Beautiful…that was the word, even as he silently stepped into the music room, watching as delicate fingers danced over white keys, rave hair curly waves that plummeted to the beings waist.

"What are you?" A childish wonder, even with how rude the question was. The music abruptly stopped, the being's fingers frozen over the piano keys before he slowly turned to face the thirteen year old, a strange almost terrifying smile as the begin tilted his head.

"I don't know." He whispered, emerald eyes sparkling in amusement before suddenly he was before the young teen. Said teen yelping in shock as cold fingers held his cheeks, and emerald eyes peered into his own. Giotto would never admit, but he was afraid, terribly afraid… especially when the piano seemingly began to play on its own…that haunting tune, _Once upon a December_.

"— but for you, you may call me Harry; and you…do you know what you are?" An eerie voice, whispery before the being…this Harry delivered a shark like smile, vanishing as if just a figment of the boy's imagination.

Magic…it wasn't real…right?

* * *

There was a change in Giotto as he grew to become a man, the town's folks would hear tales of his apparent isolation in a music room. An endless haunting melody played for all to hear, like a soul that cried out for help…yet…yet was happy for its torment. Every Christmas that song would play, and in the distance an out of tune music box sang.

"Harry…what…what are you?" Giotto asked softly, he was a man of twenty-three summers, a handsome man. He had grown quite tall, and broad in the shoulders, voice a rumbling baritone that so many ladies would swoon. He paid them no heed, his burning gaze forever set upon the beautiful being that casually lounged atop his piano, humming along to the haunting tune he could never stop playing. He had played until his fingers had bled one time, Francis in horrified shock pulling the man away from the room unable to see the strange being with his ever terrifying smile.

"Harry?" Giotto asked again, hands reaching out to touch soft skin he had never been allowed to touch. A plan foiled when a finger with a pointed nail painted black stopped him in his tracks.

Harry laughed lightly, leaning over the piano, lips almost brushing against Giotto's own trembling ones.

"Again with the questions, Giotto? And yet…you haven't answered my own. Do you know what you are?" Harry whispered, emerald eyes trained on those trembling lips, almost unaware when warm hands so suddenly trailed across the cold skin of his arm. He gasped in in strange wonder when that hand gripped him so tight, a strange anger that called to him. A strange anger made even sweeter by the burning fires of rage in the depths of eyes so gold.

"I am Master…and you are my desire." Giotto glared, the tune of the piano suddenly picking up with great speed, the wind howling furiously as he banged against glass walls.

"Is that so?" Harry drawled, laugh echoing as he captured the man's lips with his own. He didn't even fight it as he was pulled from his lounge, Giotto's arms wrapping around him in a possessive hold, holding him captive in his lap.

"You, Giotto, you are selfish…and I? I am merely the manifestation of your greed. Magic…she can be quite a cruel being." Harry whispered, even as they both vanished upon the last howl of turbulent winds.

Years later, a story would be told of the last Vongola heir who so suddenly disappeared, only a broken music box left in its wake. The eerie tune of Once Upon a December, that should have been beautiful, a terrifying sound.

 _"_ _Far away, long ago_

_Glowing dim as an ember_

_Things my heart used to know_

_Once upon a December"_


End file.
